


Fate

by RottenBoneThief



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, I have no idea what to tag this as, Romance, Some bull shit how about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:51:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottenBoneThief/pseuds/RottenBoneThief
Summary: You've never really believed in fate, but you've only ever been pulled in someones direction like this twice. The first time was a man named Akira Kojima, but he disappeared quite some time ago and you've put that part of your life behind you. Now, once again, in the middle of some shithole bar and for the first time in ages, you feel that tug. Akira/Vince x Non-Binary/Non Gendered Reader for all parties to enjoy! The Characterization for the You/Reader is a bit of a hardass/badass. Enjoy!





	Fate

The way you’re drawn to him is like that red string of fate really does exist. It’s a physical pull in his general direction and you think, maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s his smile. He looks cocky and arrogant, and you want to wipe it off his face. You want to take his pride and run it through the mud. He winks at you from his seat at the bar and you decide to make your move. You walk to him, swanking your hips some, playful as you go. He lowers his sunglasses and whistles, laughing as you stand in front of him.

“Well hey there, beautiful” He purrs, spreading his legs as his sits in the barstool, inviting you to stand between them. You do, resting your hand on his thigh, squeezing it testingly, your nails sharp, even through his jeans. He raises a brow but says nothing about it, just smiling away.

“Hey yourself.” You’re watching him with calculating eyes, taking everything into account. Who’s sitting around you, what they’re doing, where their drinks are. You’re ridiculously observant and meticulous, your eye for detail having saved your ass quite a few times in a town like this.

“What are you drinking?” He’s watching you suddenly, noticing how intently you’re looking around. He tilts his head, a smile pulling across his lips. Once again, he doesn’t say anything, but you can see a look of interest in his gaze.

“Just a budweisers fine, and thank-you” It’s your turn to wink. He grins some, leaning back and tapping the bar, ordering two bottles before looking back at you.

“I’ve seen you around before, haven’t I?” He asks, and you’re not sure. You look him up and down. You do a lot of business in these kinds of bars, with his kind of people, so you wouldn’t be surprised. You shrug your shoulders, crossing your arms.

“It’s a possibility. I’m in an’ outta these places all the time.” The bartender slides the two beers to the man and he holds yours out for you. You grab the other beer, the one he hasn’t touched, and reach out to knock the glass necks together with a smile, “Thanks again.” 

He’s grinning even wider now. Your paranoia amuses him.

“I’m Akira.” He says suddenly, leaning back some in his barstool. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Nice to meet you then, I guess. Akira” You study him out of the corner of your eye. He doesn’t look like much trouble, but something in your stomach says that name should stand out to you. You can’t recall any run ins between gangs or street thugs with the name, so you shrug it off, downing some of your beer.

“Well sweetheart, do you have plans for the rest of the night?” His eyes are narrowing and you give a little grin.

“How about I kick your ass at pool and we can decide what we’re doing from there?” He grins back at you.

“What we’re doin? Well alright, now we’re talking.” You slide out from between his legs, making your way over to the pool table without looking back, grabbing a cue stick.

“You’d best get ready to swallow your pride, Akira,” you spit his name, “Because I’m going to wipe the floor with you, and this whole bars gunna start referring to you as My Bitch.”

\--

You beat him. You beat him hard. He was playful and smiling and had decided to “take it easy” on you, which was a mistake. After watching you sink four balls in a row, he actually started to look a little angry, which really made the win worth it. 

He didn’t have a chance. 

“Well alright, alright. You beat me fair and square.” he didn’t even seem upset about the loss. In fact, overall he was a much more humble guy than you’d assumed. Sure, he played angry, but he still grinned and clapped you on the back each time you’d taken a point. 

It surprised you how much of a good sport he was.

“So, what does the winner want?” He’s nonchalant when he asks, chalking the tip of his cue stick, ready to play again if you’d want. 

You smile, deciding to take the upper hand, leaning up into his ear.

“What if the winner wants you?” He laughs when you say it, looking down at you with a smirk. 

“What, you think you can handle this? I’m a real rough boy.” You roll your eyes at his warning, grabbing him by his jacket, yanking him towards you. He startles, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. You can’t help but grin as you lean into him.

“And I’m even rougher, so either march your ass into that bathroom or take me to your place.”

\--

Somehow, neither happens. Somehow, you both end up in your bed, tangled together. You’re fine with that option, too.

\--

This has become your friday night routine. You used to mix it up, dip into a couple bars and have a round or two with whoever you could, but now you’re always at the Snake Pit. It’s where he is, too. You like to play this game. He sits at the bar and beckons you over, playing dumb, offering to buy you a drink. Each time plays out just like your first night together. Akira’s pointless flirting, his dumb remarks, his grabby hands, and you giving chase, playing hard to get. It’s friendly. It’s playful. 

You like him, and you like this.

Every game of pool pretty much goes the same way, too. He’s getting better though. He always thought he was great until you schooled him each week. 

Every week it’s winners choice, and every week, you’re the winner. 

In the end, you’re both pretty happy with the outcome.

\--

There have been several mistakes on your part over the past couple weeks. The first mistake is that you never got Akira’s phone number, but neither of you seemed too keen on exchanging digits. You told him straight up you never had the same number long, and he just smiled and nodded like he knew. The second mistake, you’ve decided, is that you went back to your place each time instead of his. 

He’d told you his brother wasn’t fond of company and you didn’t mind. 

Akira didn’t show up to the bar last week. He didn’t show up the week before, either. It doesn’t sit right with you. You’ve got no idea who he really is or what he does, but you’re not an idiot. Maybe he’s like you, picking up odd jobs here and there while working in something more risky, underground or not. Maybe he’s an arms dealer, maybe he peddles drugs, you don’t know, you never asked, you’re just too smart to think it’s anything that isn’t under the table. Your time together started to feel a little reminiscent of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, both of you far too quick and observant to be anything but dangerous.

You two were similar. You both recognized that, but neither of you dared bring it up.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Akira, and you’re starting to think you’re not going to see him ever again. You ask the bartender, you ask around with some circles of people you’d seen him chat with, but no one seems to know much of anything. No one's got any idea, not even any of your assets can locate him. 

\--  
You’ve learned a few things since then. Akira Kojima was hitman for hire, he had links to several gangs you were sourcing information through, and he’s officially been reported missing in action.

It’s somber for you, but you always cut your losses.

You write Akira off as another name and another face lost to the underground world of Rivalry and Crime.

\--

It’s almost a year in passing before you feel something familiar in a bar, a tug in the direction of a man, as though your red string has picked itself back up and wrapped itself around someone new. It’s laughable, you think, that suddenly you feel so drawn to another person again, but you humor yourself. You’ve stopped off for a drink at a seedy little bar a ways off from the main road. You’ve heard they host fights underneath the place, and a couple of your intels seem to think it’d be a good place to start lookin’ for your most recent target. 

You hear him before you see him, a loud southern accent with a crude sense of humor. He makes your nose wrinkle with the shit coming out of his mouth. You finally meet his eyes though, well, the one you can see. He’s got a mop of black covering his face, scars along his cheek that disappear down into his shirt. His hands are in his jacket as he talks, and when he sees you staring, he shuts up and grins real wide.

“Well hey there, Beautiful.” He’s tall and muscular, cocky and arrogant, and you have the strongest urge in the world to punch his lights out. You do what comes natural instead. You stride towards him with your own grin, response automatic.

“Hey yourself.” You snide, matching his stance, putting your hands in the pockets of your own jacket as you watch him. You look him over, noticing a gun holster along his jeans, noticing the brass knuckle outlined in his pants pocket. You look up at him, you eyes narrow.

“What is this, huh? You want a picture? You sure look like you do, starin’ at me like I’m a goddamn piece of artwork.” He says. You sneer as he speaks and your anger makes him grin wider. He leans against the bar, eyeing you up and down without shame. You can’t even believe how drawn you are to this piece of shit.

“How about a game of pool?” You say suddenly, shrugging rather nonchalantly as you tap the bar, asking the bartender for a beer real quick before looking back at the man. He blinks his eyes, howling with laughter. 

“You wanna play me in pool? Alright alright, fine. You win, I’ll buy the whole bar a round!” There were a few cheers from the regulars. He leaned into your face, running his tongue over his teeth, “But if I win, I’ll rail you right here on the table infront of all of ‘em weather you want me to or not, so you may wanna think about it before you take this bet, sweetheart.”

You grin. There’s no way this prideful piece of shit could beat you. You shake your head. 

“No deal. How about instead, when I win, you’ll get to tell everyone in this bar what a little bitch you are?” You grab your drink as the bartender slides it to you, taking a sip, arching your brows at him expectantly. He snarls, eyes narrowing further as you hold out your hand. “Or is that too much for your ego to handle?” 

You’ve really pissed him off now. He takes ahold of your hand, shaking it roughly.

“Deal, Bitch.”

“Oh no no, sweetheart, that’s about to be your title.”

\--

When you beat him, he grabs you by the throat, pinning you to the wall of the bar, the memorabilia along it shaking and rattling as your head hits the back. You wince and sneer, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t be such a fuckin sore loser! I won fair and square, so how about you show a little dignity, bitch?” You grin and his grip around your neck gets tighter. You’re clawing into his hold some, but he’s not letting up. 

“How the fuck did you beat me? That was dumb fuckin’ luck, you little rat.” His face is so contorted with anger, his voice straining. You didn’t know someone could get so angry so fast, especially not over a game of pool.

“Sorry I wounded your pride, but that’s not a real great reason to choke someone out.” You struggle to speak, planning your words before uttering them to make sure you can articulate. He lets you go, turning away from you, shaking his head. 

You watch as he lumbers to the bar, your eyes narrowed against his back. 

You’re still drawn to him, despite all of this. Even the way he rough housed you makes you want to go back to him again. You walk over to him, clapping your hand on his back as he mopes at the bar. You let yourself rub his shoulder some, trying to be the bigger man. He doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t shrug you off. 

“What’s your name again?” You ask him after introducing yourself. He grumbles and looks away from you like a kicked puppy, making you roll your eyes. “Wow, that’s a real cute name. Grumble Gramble, is it foreign?” He sneers at you as you make fun of him, but it doesn’t stop your grin.

“... You’re real interestin’, you know that?.” He asks, his nose wrinkling up. He looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes roaming over each part of your body, taking in the curves of your face. He sniffs a couple times, like a dog, and he relaxes. “Are you… are you from around here? Have I seen you before?” You’re not sure if he’s asking you or himself, really. His voice is low and he looks lost in thought, going back and forth from the bar to you.

You shake your head.

“I’d remember a name like Grumble Gramble.” You’re such a smart ass and he snorts, shaking his head, a big hand playfully pushing the back of your head.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” He shakes his head, sipping his own beer. You take the barstool beside him, looking him over again, with just as much inspection as he did you. You see what he means. Something about him feels warm and familiar. You’d even go as far to say comforting, which is kind of horrifying. 

This guy is the least comforting person you’ve dealt with in a while, at least, he should be. 

You two look at each other for a long moment, you tracing his jawline with your stare, looking into his eye, wondering how many times you’ve seen him and maybe just looked past him. He’s so familiar to you, that red string tugging in your chest.

“I’m Vincent.” he says suddenly, offering a hand out to you. You take it,and he yanks you from the stool, pulling you in between his legs with a bit of a grin. “Couldn’t resist. Sorry.” He’s not sorry though. You smile and playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“Vincent, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Beautiful.”


End file.
